Deux Cent
by EveningInHornersCorners
Summary: A collection of double drabbles. Story Four: A young Mr. Waverly gets word of his next mission.
1. I, Napoleon

_A/N: This was the result of a drabble switch with Anamary Armygram._

* * *

"This is ridiculous, Illya. Even _you_ wouldn't try to brave these temperatures in nothing but a suit jacket!"

"It will not be for long, my friend. And in any case, you have no choice. You cannot simply skip the meeting. They are expecting you."

"Not _me_." Napoleon countered cantankerously. "Just someone very much like me. If they were expecting _me_ , my coat, scarf, and gloves would be out of your chilly custody and lovingly serving their master."

Illya crossed his legs, pressing the foot of the top leg firmly against the desk drawer where he had stowed his partner's cold weather gear.

"It is time for you to go, Napoleon. I will have a nice glass of brandy waiting for you when you return."

" _If_ I return."

He received more than a few looks of pity as he walked down the hallway. The secretary who took his badge was good enough to temper hers with a whispered, "Good luck."

After going through Del Floria's, he mounted the outside steps, and, hitting the sidewalk, assumed a slightly stilted gait. He resisted the urge to wince as the whipping wind laid siege to his face.

 _I'm an android. Androids don't get cold.._.


	2. No Return

_A/N: This was the result of a drabble switch with Anamary Armygram._

* * *

"Illya, _please_?"

"I said no."

"But it becomes you, _Tovarisch_."

Illya looked at his partner wearily. "My friend, I have come to accept that doing your paperwork is a part of my life. That is because you have managed to neatly edge it out of yours, and I too will receive a reprimand if it is not completed. But this is different, and I am putting my foot down."

Napoleon assumed a wounded look. "Your motives are so _low_ , Illya. Sure, if this doesn't get done, no one'll blame you. No one'll even glance your way. And that's all that matters. Not friendship, or loyalty, or sympathy for the human condition..."

The Russian sighed. "Napoleon, you know that you are my dearest friend, and ordinarily I would not hesitate to assist you in your hour of need. But I vividly recall the headache I developed last year offering you the kind of help you are seeking. That is a world of pain I do not wish to revisit."

"But you did a splendid job, _Tovarisch_!"

"It is very kind of you to say so, my friend. But I still will not be doing your taxes for you again this year."


	3. A Round of Deuces

_A/N:_ _This was the result of a drabble switch with Anamary Armygram._

* * *

 _Queens_

When the car picked him up at LaGuardia, he noticed the driver's cuticles first. They were ragged and inflamed—a few even looked like they had bled earlier.

He said nothing. He knew that over the past couple of days, there was a good chance that his partner had been forced to directly deal with particular chemicals sans gloves, which would certainly have taken its toll on immaculate hands.

But when, while stopped at a red light, he observed the man taking a furtive nibble at the nail on his left forefinger, Illya knew this was not Napoleon Solo.

* * *

 _Just Outside the City_

"Dinner, _Tovarisch_?" Napoleon asked absently, gently steering the car through a curve.

"No thank you, my friend."

After he had successfully—albeit barely—avoided running off the road in response to that, Napoleon surveyed his options before finally deciding that there was only one way to respond.

"You're right. Let's wait a bit. How about we have a soufflé at your place when we get back?"

"Certainly, my friend."

The blond's smile as he answered was not quite sadistic enough, and Napoleon gave an inner grimace. Alas, it appeared this mission was not over quite yet.


	4. Hairline?

_August 19, 1927_

"...the stakes are quite high, but I've been offered certain enticing incentives should I decide to do it. So what do you think, dear?"

There was a dismayed sigh on the other end of the line. "I thought married agents weren't supposed to take field assignments."

"They aren't, but the chief says this is a special case, and he's willing to pull me out of 'retirement,' so to speak, if it will get the job done. However, he's left the final decision up to me, and I didn't want to give him my answer until I'd discussed the matter with you."

There was a long silence.

"My dear?"

She sighed again. "Alexander, I know you miss the field. And you know I'd never want to keep you from going back just on my account. But for the sake of your hair, please don't go."

Baffled but flattered, Waverly absently ran a hand along his part. "My hair? I always knew you were fond of it, my dear, but…"

"Not your hair, Alexander. Your _heir_. He's planning on joining us around Valentine's Day, and I wouldn't mind so _very_ much if you were still alive to meet him."


End file.
